#also Judy us SO FRICKIN FINE

[porschethemermaid]

The AUDACITY OF THIS BITCH-

[extremelytiredincrediblyconfused]

the melodramatic beginning of my climactic end

There are, quite honestly, about a million other ways I had hoped to gain notoriety... and by a million I mean, like, five. Six, tops. Looking back, avoiding my own inevitable would’ve been easy – a literal push; a click, a tap, the fucking pushing of a fucking button (sorry, potty mouth). All I had to do was keep my mouth shut; keep my shit private just as I always had. I had worked so hard to get where I was – where I hopefully still am – and while some people may have deserved at least some part of what they got, some were just the worst kind of collateral damage. To the latter: you will never know the extent of my regret, nor the level at which I now self-loathe. To the former: I’m still sorry, even if you do suck a little.. I know, I know I’m getting ahead of myself. On that note, I suppose I should start from the melodramatic beginning of my climactic end – my self-imposed downfall, my very clumsy swan dive into public humiliation. Here goes; try not to hate me too much.

Oh, I’ve changed the names of people and places, but the rest is - unfortunately - the truth. 

“Well, it’s over! It’s done!” Judy, very melodramatically, intoned while frantically waving her arms, “Edgewood has officially gone to hell in a handbasket!” I have only just walked into the back door of the bakery and tea house the two of us own together, but I can already tell it’s going to be one of those days – to be fair, most of them are. “Well, don’t stop now, give me all the dirt!” I know I’m baiting her, but it never stops being fun. “They robbed my silverware tree!” she offered by way of explanation – the “silverware tree” as we now call it, is the tree that we are forced by the town of Clydesville to have blocking our front door because we live in Tree City USA. We decided to make it festive by hanging all of our gold-plated silverware that was too pitted for use (we are fancy, after all) and everyone had already come to terms with the simple fact that we might as well just throw that silverware in the trash, because once it was out there it likely wouldn’t stay very long. “Well, don’t let them ever say we don’t give back to our community.” Being flippant probably isn’t the best approach to the situation, but we are nothing if not sassy here. “Thanks for taking their attack on my decoration seriously” she sighed “I guess I should just be thankful they were careful not to trample my english garden while they robbed me blind.” “You’re right, I’m sorry, I should’ve taken this more seriously” I held up my hands in a placating gesture, “more importantly – who had bets on it lasting less than a month?” Before she even had time to feign offense, the victor was ready to claim their spoils. “That would be me!” the victor in question being my friend, and co-worker, Lawrence; or as we all prefer to call him, Law, “E-e-easiest five bucks I eva made!” he took the time to not only grab his prize, but do a somewhat embarrassing dance while doing it, “Ooh, wait, give it to me in singles – I WANNA MAKE IT RAIN.” “Five singles isn’t enough to make it rain, Law.” I retorted knowingly – honestly because we have tried to do it countless times, and failed miserably. We have the slow-motion videos to prove it. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was your personal mission to rain on EVERYBODY’S parade today, Kat. Don’t let me stop you, want me to tell you about my hopes and dreams so you can shoot them all down while you’re at it? Yeesh.” He and I have been friends for so long, this type of back-and-forth is just par for the course. As a matter of fact, if I’m not mistaken, we are actually cousins. It is Wayneswood County, after all, literally everyone is related. “As long as your so-called hopes and dreams don’t involve proposing to yet another girlfriend, I’m pretty sure I’ll be supportive of them” I know it’s a low blow to hit so early in our little game, but I really do have a reason for coming in to the store today. You see, Law is what we call a ‘habitual proposer’ – he’s been engaged to four different women (only married to one) in his ripe, young age of twenty-eight. “aye-aye-aye, kick a man when he’s down, why don’tcha?” he pounded a closed fist over his heart in an attempt to make me feel bad. “I’m not saying I didn’t know it wouldn’t happen, but I just thought people would be nicer. I should know better than to place any expectations on humanity anymore. Oh, well – at least I’ve got more silverware to hang up. No more soup ladles, though, the dredges of society apparently needed to serve some broth.” Judy interjected, still trying desperately to hide her disappointment. “That or prepare a whole lot of crack!” I jovially added, making a show of shrugging my shoulders and forcing a tight smile. “Prepare. Prepare?” oh, here he goes “Uh, excuse me, yes Geeves” Law was getting into it now, affecting a posh accept and holding his pinky in the air “prepare us crack, good sir, make it our finest vintage!” “Soooorrrrryyyyy I don’t know all the hip drug lingo, friendo. I must’ve missed that issue of Street Youth Monthly.” Admittedly, my joke’s weren’t always the cream of the crop. After receiving looks of pity for my attempt at being pithy, we fell into our daily routine of treading water and getting through the daily deluge of afternoon teas, ladies having lunch, hipster parents trying to force their kids into liking fancy things and the general public needing sweets to keep calm and carry on. “Our 2:00 afternoon pushed to Wednesday, and changed their reservation time to 1:30.” Judy explained – at the end of the day we all sit down and compare calendars, make notes on scheduling, and make sure we haven’t over-booked ourselves too terribly much. “Okay, perfect. I got a form submission for a 12:00 highest on the 26th.” I added, looking over my most recent crop of e-mails. “Hmmm” Judy furrowed her brow in concentration, “No, that won’t work, we’ve got a party of 15 at 12:00 for a Bridal Shower Tea, see if they can move to either 11:00 am or 2:00 pm. Those are the only availabilities.” “I’ll go ahead and e-mail them.” I responded, tapping a few keys to bring that promise to life. “We will need someone on June 9th, we have that big pastry order for the store anniversary at Belk.” Judy flipped her calendar, and for the first time I truly realized how close to the end of May we were. “I also have a wedding that Friday, so we will definitely need to schedule a lot of help because I’ll be down for the count just filling those two orders.” I’m the Pastry Chef, so I shoulder most of the actual baking responsibility, but I always make sure that only I do the wedding cakes. I’m very, very particular about the wedding cakes. “Can do. Law, can you make yourself available?” “Already planning on it, boss.”  My friend was nothing if not dependable. “Y’all know I ain’t got shit going on otherwise.” “Thanks, my dude. Did you buy your tickets for the Front Bottoms yet?!” we had only been talking about going to see them for, oh I don’t know, a million years now. I needed him to stop dragging his feet and commit to going with me already. I hate going places by myself, especially Asheville. “ohmagod, do you want me to buy the tickets in front of you? Do you want me to purchase the gahdang tickets right frickin now so you can watch and make sure I do it, MOM?” like I said, the back and forth never stops with us. “actually that would bring me great pleasure.” I said, a smug smile taking over. “FINE.” He yelled, while pulling out his phone with more dramatic flourish than I probably deserved. After a few enunciated taps, he announced he had indeed purchased the ticket (showing me the text for proof) “You’re driving my ass there I hope you know. And buying me a beer – Wicked Weed is right next door and I’m not about to take on a buncha teenage FB fans without some liquid assistance.” “I’ll do you one better – I’ll buy you a PRETZEL to go with your beer.” I’m feeling very magnanimous, obviously. The day ended as does every other – with our tiny crew barely holding it together, and counting down the last five minutes like we were in Time’s Square watching the ball drop. Unfortunately for me, though, keeping up morale until 5:00 wasn’t going to be my biggest problem of the day.

The drive home was especially short for me, considering I lived less than a block away from the shop. Yes, I choose to drive - you haven’t been on these mean streets at 3:00 am. I put my little Honda in park, and tried to get all the groceries in one go, something at which I seemed to be failing miserably. Reaching for my key, usually hanging from the tiny cupcake keychain my boyfriend’s niece got me for Christmas a few years ago, I was shocked to look down and see nothing more than a broken bead chain. Sonofa – “NOOOOOOO not again!!!!” I whined, loudly. Cute it may be, practical it was not – I had lost my house key more times than I could count at this point during our five-year stint in our little Edgewood home. Micah’s car was here, though, so I could at least just bang on the door until he let me in. “MICAH! MICAH I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, LET ME IN YOU PUNK.” -bang bang bang- -bang bang bang- “I SWEAR TO CHRIST IF YOUR’E SLEEPING THROUGH THIS I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU. YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET THIS DOOR OPEN” -bang bang bang- At this point, my hand was starting to hurt desperately, so I decided that –naturally- the best course of action was to begin kicking the door. However, one can only punch and kick a door for so long before one decides one looks like a crazy person and the neighbors start peeking out their windows. I pulled out my phone to begin the task of calling him until he answered, but after the fifth call of incessant ringing, it started going straight to voicemail. Huh. I mean, that’s probably nothing right? “Hey, it’s Micah, I’m either busy or just can’t get to the phone right now – either way, leave me a message and I’ll call you back… or I won’t. Later. Beeeeeeeep” “Micah, what the hell? I’m sitting outside, freezing, alone, getting really shitty looks from our very terrible neighbors, I lost my key – again. Yes, I know. Your car is here, so I don’t know why you’re not, but I guess just let me know whenever you can. I love you.” A knot began twisting in the pit of my stomach – our relationship would never be described as “stable” or “healthy”, a fact that my friend who was currently going to school to be a therapist (whatever that’s called – therapy school? Therapist school? How-does-that-make-you-feel school?) was always very quick to point out. “If someone really loved you, they wouldn’t make you feel this way.” “If he really loved you, he would make you a priority.” “People in healthy relationships don’t end up crying on their friends’ couches this much.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. We started dating when I was young – honestly, no frontal lobe development whatsoever – and we got way too serious way too quickly. What would you do if you were 19 and your boyfriend’s mom made you promise to take care of him on her deathbed? Yeah, that’s right, don’t judge me; maybe I should’ve left years earlier, but sometimes the hardest thing is to do is scream for help when your lungs have filled with water. So, I sat there. I sat on that porch for five hours and twenty-seven minutes and you can bet your ass if my watch counted seconds I would know those, too. Finally, the darkness was punctured by a harrowing halogen beacon, said beacon not being attached to any car I immediately recognized, but at this point a literal prostitute could’ve been driving him home and I wouldn’t have cared – the need to urinate was all encompassing and entirely overbearing. A slow roll, the sound of the door opening and quickly closing, a decidedly female voice offering promises of meeting again soon; the soft crunch of glass-flecked grass from when he accidentally broke two of my solar lights but never bothered to clean it up, the rattle of keys being removed from the same front, left pocket in which they always rested. “’bout time.” I slurred – admittedly, at some point during my wait I had decided to crack into the beers I had purchased earlier. And by “crack into” I mean “drink all of”. “jesus!” micah whispered, jumping back and assuming what I can only imagine was meant to be a defensive position, “Kat? What are you doing out here? Christ, you scared the SHIT outta me!” “Oh, no… are you slightly inconvenienced? Oh, oh, no… I would hate for your date to end on a sour note.” “Date? Oh, seriously, Kat? Really? You’re gonna get mad about me for hanging out with an old friend?” Micah’s mood immediately turned, and I knew it could only be headed in one direction. “Don’t bring him up.” I warned “For fuck’s sake” he huffed “so you’re free to throw my female friends in my face whenever you want, but I can’t bring up your so-called… what is it that you call him?” he asked in a mocking tone “best friend forever? Your little bestie? Bestie Bitch?” “Seriously, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, that’s different.” I argued – the same argument we’ve had time and time again. “Oh, I do know what I’m talking about. I don’t give a shit that you guys have been friends since you were in diapers or whatever you want to claim – that guy is in love with you; he would be at the front of your line, and you know it.” He sneered “God, Micah, when are you finally going to admit that you’re unhappy? When will you stop trying so desperately to make ‘us’ work?” I pleaded, practically on my knees – because, damn, I was druuunk. “When will you?” I can’t explain what happened next, because never in my life have I been that person – the one who is strong enough to walk away, the one who can say no. I can only thank the Stella gods for giving me the distinguished courage to stand up – for, arguably, the first time in my life – and have the self-respect to finally walk away. “Now.” I blinked, suddenly realizing what I was saying, gathered what remained of my groceries (that I hadn’t eaten or drank) and stood up, ready to take the first step. Ready to make a move solely for myself, without worrying about someone who had never spent a day worrying about me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Back up… what?” Micah kept doing this ‘I can’t believe this is happening’ blinking and head shaking combination, probably unsure what to do in a situation where I wasn’t a complete pushover, “say that again? I had to hear you wrong.” “Now.” I said again, much more forcefully, “I’m done. You’re done. We’re done, that simple. I’m leaving – I’ll, uh, come back sometime to get my stuff. I’m taking Penelope and MacGyver.” “You’re serious? Oh, you sweet, simple little bunny… just like that? Just… done? Where do you think you’re gonna go?” he had turned condescending, and I was not there for that. At. All. “I told you to stop calling me that, you ass. I’ll find somewhere to stay – so many people have been begging me to leave you and offering their homes as shelter, it’s not me I’m worried about.” “Well leave your key, I don’t want you sneaking back in here and taking my shit.” Oh, Micah, you always were unnecessarily paranoid. Looking back, it was probably the drugs I didn’t know you were taking. “I lost my key – if you answered your phone, you’d know that.” “Are you sure you can’t stay – we can talk this out?” “There’s nothing to talk about, Micah. We’re done. Now, get the hell out of my way, I’m leaving.” “You can’t drive, you’ve been drinking… you have to stay.” He had a point, and I’m honestly super terrified of breaking the law, but before he had even finished his sentence, I had my phone out and was halfway to dialing the only person I could consistently rely on. “Kat, baby? What’s wrong?” he answered – he always answers. “I’m sorry, Phoenix, I know it’s late… I just” oh, no, the tears. The tears started happening. “I don’t give a shit what time it is – you can call me day or night, you know that – you just never call.” His voice had taken on a tender quality, probably in response to my sobs. “I, uh, I… ah, fuck, can you come get me? Please?” “Absolutely, where are you?” “Ho-“ Micah cast a harsh glare in my direction, “… um, Micah’s house.” I corrected myself – this place hadn’t ever really been my home, anyway. “… is that a new place, or a new name for an old place?” I could hear his hesitancy – I didn’t know how to approach this situation, how could I expect him to? “It’s the same address… just a different situation.” I didn’t really want to get into it, considering Mr. Glarey McGlareson was still shooting eye-daggers at me. “Give me ten minutes.” “Don’t speed.” I attempted to sound stern “Kitkat, I’m coming to pick you up from what I can only assume to be your now ex-boyfriend’s house, I’ll be there in ten minutes or I owe you a bag of chips.” “I’m timing you.” “You’d better.” “Well isn’t that just precious – you’re moving on mighty fast there, Kitkat.” Micah sneered as soon as I hung up on Phoenix. “Seriously? Don’t. Just, don’t. I’m not the one who got dropped off by another woman.” I warned, but it was hollow – honestly, whoever she was, call that bitch up and I’ll thank her myself for being the impetus for this conversation. Micah decided it would be better to not wait with me, and I couldn’t have agreed more. He told me he would call me when he felt comfortable with me getting my stuff – I told him I would be by to get my cats by the end of the following week. He snorted some semblance of an agreement, walked up the two-steps to the small porch, stalked through the front door and ended the entire conversation with a slam. Nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Phoenix’s truck pulled up in front of the 1940s bungalow I wouldn’t sleep another night in. How magnificent. “Jesus, P, how fast did you go?” “What do I need to load? What’s the game plan?” he clapped his hands, rubbing them together like he was either about to do some manual labor or concoct a dastardly plot to take down that do-gooder, Dudley. “I’m sorry, game plan?” I asked, still pretty tipsy, considering. “Yeah – let’s get this done, move you out. Why wait?” “Well, for one, it’s like three in the morning. For two, this wasn’t planned and I haven’t even packed a single shred of anything. I’m not ready, I’ll just come back.” “What’s in your hands?” confusion echoed across his handsome features. I mean, sure we’re only friends, but I can appreciate a good lookin’ guy, you feel me? “What?” I looked down, because honestly I had kind of forgotten, “Oh, groceries.” I shrugged. “That bastard let you go to the grocery store before he broke up with you?” “Hey! Who says he broke up with me?” “Kat, girl, it’s you…” head cocked, twinge of guilt, but ultimately not a wrongful assessment “Yeah, well, ya girl grew a pair tonight. My bitch ass left his bitch ass.” Sassy really isn’t my forte, but I gave it a go. “Oh, now I need to hear the full story.” Behind my head I heard a window crank open, that particular window was in the kitchen which looked directly out over the portion of the front yard in which we were currently standing. Phoenix and I both turned from the intruding noise. “Seriously, guys?” Micah deadpanned from the window – his hair was askew, his eyes red, and a cigarette was hanging from his lips “DON’T SMOKE INSIDE” Phoenix and I yelled in unison, looking at each other and giggling like schoolgirls “Yeah, my house, my rules, now seriously fuck off.” And with that little nugget, he stalked off to probably watch porn right in the living room because apparently the house was now a lawless land. “I really hate that guy” Phoenix noted “I really know you do.” “What were you thinking?” he whined “I have asked myself that every day for the past 5 years.”

The drive to Phoenix’s house took decidedly longer than nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds, probably because we took back roads so we could listen to music longer – something we had always done. There was always singing, usually dancing, and more than a few times there were tears. After minor protest, he helped me carry in my groceries. Unlocking the door, he flicked on the light to reveal the home he had been pouring his heart into renovating for the past two years. The coffee table was new – he built it. “Just put the groceries on the counter and I’ll help you put them up.” He whispered “Thanks – I would say we could just toss them and start over, but these are kind of my only worldly possessions right now, and I’m a little attached.” I whispered back, because duh. “I understand – it’s hard to not get attached to…” plucking a random box out of my bags, “tender whites popcorn.” He said, still whispering. “Hey, P, did you get a roommate?” “Hell, naw, why?” “Why are we whispering?” “Ha!” he laughed, louder now, “in my head we were sneaking into one of our parents’ houses. God, sometimes in my head we’re still teenagers.” He was clearly reminiscing. “I wish things were still that simple.” I released on a sigh “Well, do you wanna sleep or talk?” he was never one to tiptoe around the delicate “Honestly? Sleep. I promise I’ll give you the full story over the coffee you make me in the morning “God” he snorted “you will never change, huh?” “Here’s hoping.” “Wouldn’t want you any other way. The guest room is made up, you know the way, I’m hitting the hay. If you need anything, keep it to your damn self because I’m sleepy. Love you, bestie.” He gave me a quick hug – because even after being friends for most of our lives, neither of us was particularly physically demanding “I love you, too, P. I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for saving my ass, again.” “Anytime, KK.” We parted ways, him walking to his master bedroom, and me walking to the guest bedroom situated directly across the short hallway. He paused at his door, and looked back at me “Kat?” I paused, and turned as well, “yeah, Phoenix?” “…welcome back.” “Where had I gone?” “Nowhere good.” The pain was obvious on his face “You’re not wrong, bestie. You’re not wrong.” “You’ll get through this.” “I always do.” “I’ll be right here.” “… you always are” I added before finally closing my door. I guess, in a way, I was back. Like waking up after a deep sleep riddled with nightmares, full of monsters and shadows holding you down and filling you with a sense of inferiority. I suppose, in some small measure, this was one of the first monumental moments of clarity in my fog-riddled existence. I only wish I had stayed up my upward trajectory, stayed full of hope and happiness, kept the lightness of losing a boyfriend-sized weight. Ah, well, I wouldn’t have much of a story to tell then, now would I?

[fromtheringapron]

WWF Royal Rumble 1988

Date: January 24, 1988.

Location: Copps Coliseum in Hamilton, Ontario. 

Attendance: 18,000.

Commentary: Vince McMahon and Jesse Ventura.

Results:

1. Ricky Steamboat defeated Rick Rude via disqualification. 

2. Two-out-of-Three Falls Match for the WWF Women’s Tag Team Championship: The Jumping Bomb Angels (Noriyo Tateno & Itzuki Yamazaki) defeated The Glamour Girls (Judy Martin & Leilani Kai) (champions) (with Jimmy Hart) to win the titles. 

3. Royal Rumble Match: Jim Duggan won the match by lastly eliminating One Man Gang. Other participants included (in order of appearance): Bret Hart, Tito Santana, Butch Reed, Jim Neidhart, Jake Roberts, Harley Race, Jim Brunzell, Sam Houston, Danny Davis, Boris Zhukov, Don Muraco, Nikolai Volkoff, Ron Bass, B. Brian Blair, Hillbilly Jim, Dino Bravo, The Ultimate Warrior, and Junkyard Dog. 

4. Two-out-of-Three Falls Match: The Islanders (Haku & Tama) defeated The Young Stallions (Paul Roma & Jim Powers). 

My Review 

The first ever Royal Rumble event is a far cry from the much-hyped first stop on the Road to WrestleMania as we know it today. While the Rumble match was the creative genius of Pat Patterson, the event itself was largely birthed out of Vince McMahon’s cutthroat political maneuvering in the late ‘80s. The story is pretty well-documented now: With rival Jim Crockett Promotions set to air its new pay-per-view Bunkhouse Stampede on January 24, 1988, McMahon decided to launch a special of his own, dubbed the Royal Rumble, on the same night in direct competition, this time on free TV. A typical dick move from McMahon, but the plan worked. Royal Rumble scored huge TV ratings while Bunkhouse Stampede was critical and commercial bust, and the rest was history.

Royal Rumble ’88 can’t help but feel like the WWF testing the waters for their next big pay-per-view event. The Rumble match alone could tell you that. As the only one to feature 20, not 30, men, it’s a comparatively paltry affair with much lower stakes. The winner, Jim Duggan, gets nothing more than bragging rights and a nifty little accomplishment to add to his resume. One thing that particularly stands out is how the “no friends” angle of the match isn’t put over at all, instead sticking to a strict heel vs. face divide. I’d say this is to the match’s detriment, but the crowd doesn’t give a damn. They’re absolutely sucked into the entire thing. It’s not hard at all to see why the WWF decided to build an annual pay-per-view around it.

But, of course, they couldn’t just treat 18,000 people in the Copps Coliseum to only one match. There was an entire show to fill out, and that explains why we’re also treated to a mixed bag of matches and segments that put the show on a weird pace. Arguably just as big a draw, if not more so, as the Rumble match is the contract signing between Hulk Hogan and Andre The Giant for their historic rematch on The Main Event. In an age where contract singings are a monthly occurrence on Raw, the segment seems like nothing special, but it was huge frickin’ deal in 1988, especially considering the rematch is still the most-watched wrestling match on cable TV. Much less of a frickin’ deal is a torturous Dino Bravo weightlifting segment, which seemingly lasts for three decennia and exists solely as a vessel for cheap heat.

There are only three other matches booked on the card, two of them being two-out-of-three falls tag matches. The first of these is the excellent WWF Women’s Tag Team Championship match, one of the few shining moments for women’s wrestling in ‘80s WWF. There’s always been this narrative that women’s wrestling wasn’t successful in the U.S. because “fans didn’t care about it” when, in reality, it was more because the bookers didn’t care about it. When given time and development, fans certainly did care, and let this match and its showcase for The Jumping Bomb Angels serves as proof. The other tag match is a completely unnecessary bout between The Islanders and The Young Stallions. Not only is it unnecessary, but it actually ends the show! This is largely due to the WWF’s practice of front-loading their TV specials at the time, but you’d be forgiven if you turned the show off after the Rumble.

While Royal Rumble 1988 isn’t exactly a must-see, it makes for interesting viewing as a blueprint. Just a year later, the show would air on pay-per-view and begin to resemble the event we recognize. There were still kinks to be ironed out following the 1989 show but if nothing else, at least they learned to never air a weightlifting segment ever again.

My Random Notes

When exactly did they start acknowledging this show as canon? I seem to remember the ’89 Rumble being acknowledged as the first Rumble for many years and then it suddenly changed. Also, since it was never released on VHS, this was something of a “lost” show for me and I didn’t get to view it in full in the DVD Anthology came out.

Vince not being able to tell the Jumping Bomb Angels apart gives me secondhand embarrassment, and then he refers to Noriyo Tateno as “Norino” for good measure.

Some noticeable absences here: Randy Savage, then-current IC champ The Honkytonk Man, and Rick Martel, which is particularly odd given his tag partner Tito Santana made it to the Copps Coliseum that night just fine.

So many guys have their one-time only appearance in the Rumble here, which makes this one more of a novelty. The names include: Sam Houston, Danny Davis, Butch Reed, Don Muraco, Hillbilly Jim, The Killer Bees, Boris Zhukov, Harley Race, and JYD (who you just know is winding down his WWF career here given how he’s dumped out unceremoniously and doesn’t have a care in the world).

Jesse still manages to put over Bret Hart on commentary. He always went out of his way to tell us that Bret is awesome and it’s something that always sticks out when I watch anything from this period.

My god, the dubbed Rick Rude theme on the WWE Network is terrible. Why can’t they get his original theme music, anyway? Does it have anything to do with the killer sax?

If you needed any further proof that Islanders vs. The Young Stallions was a complete afterthought, they actually air Ted DiBiase segment between falls while both guys have to awkwardly linger around the ring. Paul Roma could never catch a break.

So was Nikolai Volkoff running out to the ring before his number a botch or genuinely planned? It’s a hilarious bit either way.

On Dino Bravo: Why did they push this dude so much? I get that he was a huge star in Montreal, and that was a completely different world all to itself, but I just don’t see how it could’ve translated into a role as a top heel in a major national promotion. Compared to the embarrassment of riches they had in colorful heels at the time, his generic anti-American act seems dull and kinda outdated even for the time period.

One final note: I wish that fan who brought their own megaphone to the Copps Coliseum a particularly unpleasant evening, wherever they may be now.